𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➀

18 REVOLVE

I've been picking at the tear in my jeans for the last fifteen minutes. The foot of that same leg has been tapping the floor relentlessly for almost the entire duration of this meeting. I glance up for what feels like the hundred-billionth time and look at the room of dead faces. These faces are essentially the same as the last faces except for the fact that there's no women in this group. This is an all men's group, no fucking and sucking is going to be happening here.

"Sean, would you like to share today?" Shit-haircut-guy asks. He asks me every week. "It's been four weeks since you first started group, we'd love to hear from you."

I fucking hate this guy. No, I don't want to share my life's shitty experiences with Ted, Fred, Ned, Steve, and Jim, or whatever their fucking names are. I look up at the caged-in clock, watching as it slowly ticks my life away. Spending every Wednesday night in this dank shit-hole basement is nearly impossible without the prospect of getting pussy or head now.

"What do you say, Sean?" He smiles at me. It's grimy and gross. "It might help to open up." I shrug. "Why don't you tell us why you're here? That's a good place to start."

"Maybe next week." More like never.

"Okay, Sean." He sighs and gives me a sad smile.

If there ever was a person to kill your libido it'd be this fucking guy. From his gravelly voice that's just an octave above a normal tone to his greasy dirty-blonde, slicked-back hair that looks like his mother still cuts it, this guy is a boner killer. The epitome of one. I'm sure any woman who sees this guy immediately turns into the Sahara Desert.

Instead of me sharing, a new guy named Aaron starts in. His story of psychedelic events from the past week sounds rather familiar. He's just about as jittery as I am too. I suppose everyone here is cut from the same fucked-up cloth.

After what seems like a fucking eternity in that musty Church basement, I'm heading down the steps to my truck. I think back to what the guy said about sharing my shit and laugh as I then think back to Monica standing there, staring at me like I was the saddest thing she'd ever seen in her existence.

Yeah fucking right. You couldn't pay me enough to go through that shit again. Even if it was to a group of guys more pitiful than me, there's just no way. Shit-hair-cut-guy would have better luck trying to pull out my teeth.

I step up into the cab of my truck after I open the heavy black door. I'm in the mood for something different tonight, something to really just burn my nostrils off. I think I'll grab a bottle of Tanqueray so I can just burn the rest of the evening away as well.

Gin. Every woman I've ever been with says it smells like Pinesol. Which, if you ask me, the two of them do have something in common. Other than the fact that they both have a strong scent, they both have an ability to clean shit up. The shit being my life, because I'm going back to my apartment tonight.

Fuck my life.

After nearly a month away from the damn thing I'm hoping the whole Monica situation is over with. Maybe we can just tone it down to a hello here and there. Just a few awkward waves in the hall, if that. Maybe just an awkward glance is better. Yeah, better to just not even say a word to each other and after the amount of time I've been gone she's most likely moved on to someone else anyway.

Hopefully not someone like that last asshole.

But it's not my job to care about that anymore or really even care about her anymore. Monica is her own person. She's an adult and can make her own decisions, her own mistakes. I don't need to be the person who's there helping her through her shit. I've already got enough shit of my own going on.